


Flames Along Your Fingertips

by Chromi



Series: Deuce-centric [10]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Branding, Devotion, Dorks in Love, Hand Jobs, Introspection, M/M, Marking, Mild Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sappy, Tattoos, because lets face it they are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromi/pseuds/Chromi
Summary: Deuce gets tattooed after the crew bets that he would never do such a thing. Well, he's proved them wrong all right. He's gone and got a spade - not to signify his tie to his old crew, but to forever be marked and identified as belonging to his captain.
Relationships: Masked Deuce/Portgas D. Ace
Series: Deuce-centric [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576678
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33





	Flames Along Your Fingertips

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a whole month since I last wrote porn, which is hitherto unheard of for me. This is my way of getting back into the game - it's great to be posting again!
> 
> Inspired by a chat in a group Discord server a couple of months ago. The idea simply would not leave me be.

A snarl hissed from him, turning almost instantly into a soft snicker of disbelief, on the small of his back slamming against the crate. Sliding down onto his ass resulted in the crate rubbing non too friendly at his back, but honestly? He really didn’t care. He couldn’t care. Not when Deuce followed him onto the floor, settling between his bent knees and brushing up intimately close.

The storage room that he had been mercilessly shoved into had been swallowed by darkness on the door clicking shut, and Ace still fought down the urge to light a fingertip to illuminate their surroundings. He didn’t need light to know the precise, _exact_ expression Deuce wore – it was one that he was already keenly familiar with, one that he could draw from memory alone, had his artistic skills ever permitted him to create something that looked even vaguely human.

Hungry, searching lips fell to his cheek, missing their mark but soon rectifying their mistake, on Deuce pressing up against him properly. Warmth cloaked them not from Ace’s fire but from Deuce’s own body heat, making for an unusual change of pace. Almost feverish, coat discarded the instant he had got the door shut, Deuce very nearly bit him in his haste to connect and to feel.

“What’s got you so excited?” Ace grinned, drawing great, long lines down his boyfriend’s back with nails blunted by incessant nibbling, a habit that Deuce had futilely attempted to stamp out over the last couple of years. When no response came save for a soft sigh of content at the pain, giving the barest hint at which direction Deuce was going to take tonight (that had Ace _riled_ in an instant), Ace continued, “not like you to get horny in public.”

“Semi-public,” Deuce corrected, and _yes_ , there it was, that breathless, hopeless, senses-taken-leave tone that Deuce adopted _so_ easily when they were confined alone together, “no one’s going to come in here.”

He couldn’t know that. There was no way that he could know that for certain, and yet the lack of security in their privacy didn’t seem to concern Deuce in the slightest. Smiling, Ace tilted his chin to better move against Deuce’s searching lips, kissing back and welcoming the fervent hunger that had seemingly blossomed from nowhere.

Only it wasn’t _from nowhere_ at all. While the others who had been with them in the town – Skull, Thatch, and a couple of the men from the second division – certainly hadn’t noticed anything, Ace had seen the signs. And Ace had had _immense_ fun witnessing Deuce try – and, incredibly, succeed – to cover up the erection he had gained from their little venture into a tattoo parlor that afternoon, goaded on by the crew’s insistence that Perfect Boy Deuce would _never_ do something like get inked.

Did Deuce have a thing for needles, for some random man tattooed and pierced in places that none of them would have ever considered? Certainly not. Not at all.

What Deuce had a thing for – and what anyone who ever met him could tell in seconds of Ace being within his sight – was his captain. Was all that he could give and take and use and offer in the name of loving Ace.

And oh, did his devotion, his love, ever leave Ace winded and yearning, even with Deuce beside him.

Fingers caught at his belt, hastily unbuckling it and successfully wrenching Ace from remembering the manner in which Deuce had shivered, breath caught in the back of his throat, the moment the buzzing needle had first made contact with his skin. How he had gone violently pink and pressed his forehead into the bench he lay on, back bare and pants pulled down enough to allow the artist to work his magic. The others had thought he couldn’t deal with the pain – Ace had known that Deuce only bit his lip like _that_ when he was really feeling it.

“But anyone could walk in,” Ace mouthed to Deuce’s lips, slick already with saliva and soft to the touch, plumped and inviting, “anyone could see us, Deu. You okay with that?”

He seemed to be. Certainly, no sound or word of protest or mention of stopping and taking this back to their room left him. Instead, Ace’s chin was caught and turned between forefinger and thumb, exposing neck and tendon and carotid to teeth that nipped, caught, and worked him into a high, rolling moan.

“They won’t.” Assurance luxuriated in Deuce’s throat, left him low and rumbling to skin that heated under his breath, his hunger all too apparent. “And if they do, well…” He probably liked to think that he would find his voice and tell them to fuck off; Ace, more realistically, could only picture Deuce flailing to hide them both from unsuspecting eyes.

Again, nails skated down Deuce’s back on his roll of hips forward, insistently grinding against Ace’s and stilling his progress with the shorts’ zipper. He was desperate, the usual methodical shedding of clothes and loving touches lost in favor of clawing to Ace’s hips, breath panting to the shell of his ear on Ace eagerly reciprocating that firm press of groin to groin. He was hard – Deuce, too – but all his actions rewarded him was a delay in getting himself out of his offending clothes.

With a stuttered breath, a hard _twitch_ against him, Deuce’s hips suddenly tilted to angle back into where Ace’s fingers came to rest on their quest downwards, and _pressed_.

Where they pressed hard, unyielding, and cruelly into his fresh, new tattoo at the base of his spine.

“ _Ace,_ ” Deuce whimpered, simultaneously attempting to grind forward and also arch back into his touch, “you sh-shouldn’t touch it, it’ll get inf—” But a harder press elicited only a harsh groan into Ace’s neck, raising a smug, satisfied grin of his own in the dark.

If there was one thing that Ace knew with utter certainty, it was Deuce. All his quirks; all his little ways and delightful manner in which he simply did not try to be someone he wasn’t when alone with Ace. Anything to feel alive – anything to sate that innate urge to _belong_ to and be claimed by Ace. A fine line to dance upon; a difficult thing to get right, to balance precisely. But, if he could be so arrogant, Ace rather thought that he had Deuce’s fondness for mild pain dealt out by his captain sussed most impressively.

And this was exactly the kind of setting, the kind of situation, that would see Deuce literally begging for more before long.

“It’ll heal way better if you take your belt and pants off,” Ace murmured, turning his face to nuzzle deep into Deuce’s hair, “don’t you think?” Judging by how fast Deuce nodded against him, yes, Deuce _did_ think so.

A tramp stamp, Skull had called it. A tattoo that spanned across the back of Deuce’s hips, intricately woven ribbons of black ink curling and twisting away from a solid black spade in the center over his spine. A design that had been handed to him by Izou with a smirk, commissioned under the former Spade pirates’ hoots of encouragement and laughter that even if Deuce _were_ to get tattooed, he’d surely never settle with _that_.

Only he did, even after Ace had taken pity on him and pointed out _why_ the location earned it the name a tramp stamp. If anything, Deuce had seemed to take even more of an interest in it afterwards.

Deuce didn’t start with his own clothes, surprisingly. With difficulty he finished undoing Ace’s shorts and, with minimal encouragement, guided Ace to raise his hips enough to pull them off along with his underwear. A moment of shuffling blind in the dark, a hard tug at his right boot, then left, and then Ace was bare. The sound of his clothes hitting the floor some way away only raised the very mild concern of not being able to reach them in the event of someone coming in – it was hard to care when Deuce was this restless.

“God, you're so—”

Ace's breathless attempt at praise was lost, stifled against Deuce's insistent kiss, the sweep of his tongue that delved in deep and urgent. He responded wholeheartedly, taking Deuce's hand that palmed hot to his chest and settling it firm between his legs, leaving his partner in no doubt (not that there ever would be any in the first place) that Ace, too, was aroused and _wanting_.

Hot, sharp pants of breath rained down against Ace's lips, Deuce so wound up that he had lost any semblance of coherency that he had started with. Where Ace made some kind of half–hearted attempt at slowing down their tempo, he was met only with an annoyed huff and a harder, deeper kiss.

“You're so cute,” Ace moaned into Deuce's kiss, stroking back down his spine to come to rest at the fresh, raised tattoo, “getting off on being branded with our old crew's mark.” When Deuce did little more than sigh a moan of his own, Ace added, “that's what's got you so worked up, isn't it?”

It wasn't. Not quite, at least. Not how Ace put it. The love for a crew two years dead had not driven Deuce to take up the design splashed across his pelvis; the bittersweet memories of days long gone hadn't rendered him hard, hot, and quivering on the floor of a storeroom mere moments after boarding the Moby from shore leave.

The touch of a wry grin cocked to the right almost had Ace losing his mind for how self-assured it was. As wonderful and stunning as Deuce was when entirely submissive and pliant, Ace sure did love him when something riled him enough to stoke his own fire to this degree, too.

“No,” was Deuce's breathless correction, liquid gold swirling through his words with how revered his tone left him, “not for the crew. Never for the crew.” His thumb slid over the head of Ace's cock, smearing in the pre-come that gathered at the slit, before letting go and directing his attention back to his own belt again. The quicker he was bare too, the better – Ace grasped to help undress him, sitting up and sliding flush to Deuce's abdomen, nosing into his sternum from where he sat while Deuce knelt.

Frantic struggling and hurried hands finally saw the belt unbuckled and pants pulled down – Deuce wriggled out of them, wrestling his boots off in the dark and launching them off who knew where. It didn't matter – the struggle to locate and dress again was a problem for later, and touching was for now. Touching and feeling, raising a pleased, appreciative groan from Ace the moment Deuce scratched at his knees in his haste and clambered to straddle his lap instead.

“It's for you,” Deuce sighed wantonly, caressing Ace's cheeks and pulling him in closer, closer, ever _closer_ until skin branded skin and hearts tangled wild under their synchronized beating, “your mark. Just you. Only ever you.”

Only ever him – that single-minded, hopeless love that Deuce maintained throughout everything. The only thing that he lived for, Deuce was apt to remind Ace at virtually any given moment, and the only thing that he would cast aside his life for without a beat of hesitation.

Devotion suited Deuce well, gave him a certain quality and spirit that he promised had never existed within him before he had met Ace. To live and to die for one person – the epitome of self-sacrifice. The very definition of a life worth living, according to Deuce. Freedom found in the arms of another man; freedom taken form under the touch of his captain of past, present, future.

It was only ever going to be Ace. And it was only ever going to be Deuce.

“You're branded into my skin,” Deuce murmured, rubbing up hard to Ace's stomach with every gentle roll of his hips against him, “feels good, being marked by you.”

And, as if to prove his point, Ace's hands were guided back to sit at Deuce's hips, silently begging for him to go against all of his medical learnings and touch the tattoo again. So transparent – so adorable.

“You want me to touch it?” Ace whispered, pulling Deuce flush against him (like he _could_ get closer, get right under his very skin) and straining up into his weight. Deuce, in response, ground down, issuing a helpless little sigh and the barest, sweetest hitch of breath that had Ace’s toes curling against the wooden floor. “You sure that’s a good idea?” Yet he inched closer down Deuce’s spine regardless, pleased by how the lower he travelled, the more Deuce seemed to struggle.

Encouragement wasn’t required from Deuce, nor was the explicit consent that he feigned asking for. It was there already, granted via Deuce’s gasping, sucking breaths planted wet to Ace’s neck, the sticky patch of pre-come that smeared into Ace’s abs, along his dick, with each roll of hips against him. No – all Ace was doing – and Deuce doubtlessly knew it full well – was feeding his own possessiveness that Deuce’s words had awoken.

A rare thing to stir within him, that borderline feral, snarling side that demanded none other but he even so much as looked in Deuce’s direction. Forever labelled as the protective and selfish one of the pair, Deuce’s behavior often eclipsed Ace’s own ability to despise the thought of ever having Deuce removed from his side.

It had happened once, Ace remembered on kissing Deuce forcefully, swallowing his moan and silencing it with his tongue. There had been a time when he thought he was going to lose him for good, have him won over by the power of Whitebeard and his commanders before Ace himself had come to understand the truth about the crew. It had been terrifying, and he had been left hurting as deeply as the days of Sabo’s death. Another loved one lost, but this time by said loved one’s own willingness to betray and abandon.

Ace was infinitely glad that he had been wrong, and that Deuce had simply handled the situation awfully.

But never again. This reminder – this mark, here, heated and raised, numbed yet painful under his fingers, would always serve as a stark reminder that Deuce would never leave him, would never become anyone else’s for as long as he lived.

“A-Ace,” Deuce panted, cupping a cheek and thumbing to kiss-slicked lips to still Ace’s attack on his own, “it _hurts_.”

Immediately, Ace’s palms dropped lower to squeeze at Deuce’s ass instead, lifting and spreading his cheeks to sink nails into what little fat he carried. To his delight – because he _knew_ Deuce, he _knew_ what that tone he had taken _really_ meant – Deuce merely whimpered against a freckled cheek, sweaty forehead bumping to Ace’s own.

“That doesn’t mean _stop_ ,” Deuce clarified in a low growl, allowing himself to be ground into Ace’s pelvis all the more insistently.

The kisses returned, Ace’s smug grin stepping back into play to coax an insincere huff of irritation from Deuce. He felt so good, _right_ , warm to the touch and thighs trembling strapped over Ace’s lap, cock wet to cock and heart hammering hard enough to be on the verge of audible.

So Ace did what was inadvertently asked of him, but not before skimming dangerously close inwards to come almost in contact with Deuce’s rim. His desired result was achieved, much to his delight, and Deuce’s hand that had been supporting himself against the crate alongside Ace’s head shot down to fist their cocks together between them.

Pleasure flooded Ace instantly, the pressure of Deuce’s calloused palm _far_ more satisfying than the slick pull and tug of abdominal muscles and Deuce’s dick rubbing up against him. Without hesitation he curled his blunt nails to press again into the center of the spade, aim guided sure by the line of Deuce’s spine.

And Deuce shook atop of him, canting forward roughly into his hold.

His other hand joined the first, trusting Ace to not let him overbalance in the dark and in such a position. Any threat of being discovered that Deuce may have felt despite his dismissal was fast evaporating – his voice climbed an octave and grew louder, more frantic on Ace’s circular motions overtop of his inked skin. Ace himself, though he was certain he had more of his wits about him than Deuce right now, was beginning to find it harder to keep his own shuddered gasps and encouraging moans squashed down in his throat.

“Ah, _fuck_ ,” Ace groaned, rolling up as best he could to meet Deuce’s pace, head bumping back against the crate with an audible knock, “ _fuck_ , Deuce, fuck you’re so _hot_ when you get like this.”

He was _so hot_ whatever he _got like_ , but that specific didn’t really seem necessary to point out right now.

The slickness of the pre-come between them increased, both getting closer far more easily now thanks to the pressure gloving them. It wasn’t the way Ace would choose to finish – ideally he’d see himself buried to the hilt inside of Deuce, teeth sinking into his shoulder or neck and letting the carnal desire that bubbled under his skin to just run _rampant._ However, Deuce showed no inclination toward stopping, slowing, or changing anything about their position.

And that was perfectly fine. He could forego a day of feeling Deuce clamping tight and hot around his cock, no big deal.

“When I get like what?” Deuce managed between open-mouthed kisses, sounding strained and hurried.

“When you get—get—” to illustrate, Ace’s thumbs dipped to take over where his fingertips had been rubbing, massaging into the sweat-slicked skin of Deuce’s back. The effect was immediate, seeing Deuce gasp sharp and angle better to press against the pain, inviting more. “When you get like _this_. I don’t know how to describe it right,” Ace finished in a rasp, going for Deuce’s throat and sucking a bite above his collarbone. “But—y’know, Deu—even if you hadn’t got the—the tattoo, you’d still be mine no matter what.” Deuce’s full-body shiver against him was _delicious_. “Just mine.”

“Just yours,” Deuce echoed fervently, an appreciative moan for Ace’s greed, “only yours.”

Strange, really, how a simple tattoo could carry so much weight within it. Like how Whitebeard’s mark upon Ace’s back signified so much more than simply demonstrating which crew he belonged to, or how his misspelled name adorning his arm represented substantially more than he could ever bring himself to reveal to anyone other than Deuce himself, this simple pattern of ink spiralling Deuce’s lower back was anything _but_ simple to them both.

And all that it aroused in Ace’s heart was not _simple_ , either.

“Wanna mark you up more,” Ace moaned against Deuce’s lips, back popping away from the crate the moment Deuce’s right hand left their sodden cocks to instead palm at Ace’s chest, thumbing at a nipple, “wanna claim you, brand you further in my own way.”

Deuce _definitely_ seemed to like the thought of that, although Ace couldn’t help but guess that his imagination wasn’t taking him to the same places that Ace’s now was. “You already have me,” he reassured regardless, breathless, lips gliding soft over freckle-dappled cheek to ear, “but if you want more, I’m sure we could— _ah—_ come up with something—”

He already had. Ace already knew _exactly_ what he wanted to do, how to make his claim over Deuce far more personal and intimate than any parlor-inked tattoo could hope to provide. Something that was distinctly, solely of _his_ creation – something that no one else could match or provide.

Flames sparked at Ace’s fingertips on drawing them to rest at Deuce’s hips, gripping him harshly and digging his nails in to anchor, to _hurt_ , to let Deuce _feel_ the domineering ache for him pass through Ace and into his skin.

The effect was instantaneous – Deuce _writhed_ in his lap, his fist around their dicks stopping so suddenly that Ace hissed the most awful loss, the sound snapping straight to a hard, panted sigh on Deuce’s choked, high-pitched moan.

There was no way he hadn’t left his fingerprints’ signature on Deuce’s hips – no possible way that the smell of scorched skin didn’t signify that Ace had successfully imprinted directly onto Deuce’s body.

“ _Ace_ ,” Deuce almost sounded on the verge of orgasm, his partner’s name ripped from his throat in a hoarse rasp, and if Ace hadn’t known him better, he might have felt that sickening wave of terror that he had done something terribly, terribly wrong. However— “ _Ace, fuck, that’s what you meant._ ” He swallowed audibly, breath coming shaky and constricted with what Ace knew full well was less from pain and _far_ more from pleasure. _“Do it again._ ”

Mark him. Own him. Show the world under no uncertain terms that he _wanted_ to bear the signs that no one but Ace could burn into him.

So Ace did, stroking higher and curving round to Deuce’s back, above the tattoo. It took a great deal of self-control to both actually make his flames tangible on contact with the skin of someone he cared for, and to then control them enough to not seriously injure Deuce. Because _fuck_ , that control was fast vanishing, orgasm rapidly building from Deuce’s sudden spurt of speed in his strokes, the sound of his voice harsh and needy right in Ace’s ear. Nails embedded themselves deep into Ace’s chest, gripping him like Deuce’s sanity depended on it.

A whimper escaped Deuce under the burning, back straightening in a fruitless attempt to bear the brunt of the pain more easily. Lips met Ace’s yet again, hunger evident in Deuce’s passion, and Ace returned it with everything he possessed. He was burning his partner – no, he was _branding_ him – staking his claim over what he already had, heart and soul.

Yet despite this – despite how Deuce twisted under Ace’s fingers scoring their identity into his flesh, branding him as he had so enthusiastically desired – he swelled further between them still, a sure sign that Deuce was right on the verge of his peak. Pre-come from them both coated his fist, their stomachs, tips flushed red and so, _so_ close.

Pride coursed through Ace as that first shiver of promised release tickled through him. He wouldn’t be able to stave it off for long, not with how good Deuce felt against him, how sweet his cries of tangled arousal and discomfort rang clear to Ace’s ear, lips pressed to shell.

“Please,” Deuce begged, trembling in Ace’s hold; a pained, _pleased_ moan tore through him the instant Ace adjusted his grip and reduced the tiny, sparkling flames to mere embers, “Ace, _please_ , touch me properly— I can’t— I’m too—”

With his hand that had clawed deep to Ace’s chest, Deuce reached back behind himself to very clearly press at his own entrance. A distressed, muffled whine had Ace imagining Deuce to be biting his lip in the dark and, on tilting to kiss him, found himself correct.

“You want me to touch you inside too, Deu?” Ace cooed, tone ragged and far less cool than he had hoped he would sound, shaking his sweaty hair out of his eyes. “You want me to brand my mark into your walls, burn straight through to your prostate and sign it with fire?”

What was concerning was how, for a little longer than a heartbeat, Deuce’s breath caught in his chest, genuinely seeming to consider this most outrageous of offers.

“I was joking,” Ace clarified with the barest hint of a laugh, “I was _joking_ , Deu, I’m not gonna—a-ah, _shit—_ ”

His orgasm ripped through him despite how he tried to head it off, leaving him slack-jawed and gasping hot to Deuce’s cheek. Come painted them both, and even in the dark Ace could feel it dripping down his abdomen to rub slippery between them.

“Hah,” Deuce said shakily, turning his face enough to press a kiss into Ace’s cheek, “you came first for a change.”

Indignation flared wild in Ace’s chest at the sound of Deuce’s self-satisfied tone, squirming underneath him with the beginnings of overstimulation until Deuce released his cock fisted to his own. A silly thing to get worked up about, yes, and Deuce was just seconds away from coming too, so really, the odds had been equally in their favor, right?

Without warning, Ace’s fingers dipped low over Deuce’s ass once again, only this time he secured a firm grip on one cheek while slapping away Deuce’s hand that lingered there. Warm, firm fingers prodded to Deuce’s rim, circling easily before pressing insistently at the entrance without breeching. He got his desired effect immediately, causing Deuce to jolt under Ace’s touch and moan low, desperate, into his neck, his hand speeding up over himself again.

“What would you do,” Ace asked quietly, the question posed direct into Deuce’s ear on a puff of warm air, “if I _did_ mark you here right now?”

It happened instantly, as Ace had known it would – Deuce came with a choked off curse, spilling up over Ace’s abdomen and chest and over his own fist. So predictable – so very, very sincere and cute.

It took several long seconds for Deuce to regain his composure, breathing heavily against Ace’s heated skin before raising his face to bump forehead to forehead. If Ace could see his expression now, he rather thought that Deuce would be smiling, expression soft and tender as it so often was in their moments alone where the world outside simply stopped mattering.

“Are you hurt?” Ace asked gently, tenderly running his fingers through Deuce’s hair and tucking it behind his ear. “Did I go too far?” When Deuce shook his head, Ace pressed on, “are you sure? I’ve never actually _burned_ you like that before, Deu… you’re probably gonna end up scarred if you’re not careful.”

“Good.” The words came too quickly, Ace’s offering of letting Deuce change his mind rejected without hesitation. “That’s the whole point of branding, to make it last.” Deuce leaned back enough to kiss Ace – a gentle, searching kiss that sought to reassure and calm, moving against him languidly and unrushed. Ace accepted it wholly, drawing Deuce against him with arms wrapped secure around his back, stroking unhurriedly along the many dips and ridges of his shoulder blades, spine, ribs. Mapping that which he already knew perfectly.

“As long as you’re okay—” Ace begin in a hushed voice, but Deuce cut him off gently.

“You didn’t even do that much,” he soothed, “it was just your fingertips. You don’t need to worry.”

Ace thought for a moment before grinning, only a little saddened that Deuce couldn’t see his expression in the dark. Stroking small circles into the bumps of Deuce’s spine, Ace teased, “I could brand my dick into your butt, if you want.”

Deuce’s flat, deadpan reply of, “yeah, sure,” had Ace snorting into his shoulder. That was, until Ace made to scratch an itch at his chest and was met with a mixture of both his own come and Deuce’s at his fingers, and a sudden worrying, hilarious realisation hit him.

“By the way… how’re we gonna get back to our room in this state? We can’t really get dressed again – we’re filthy.”

Deuce’s hard sigh made Ace’s hair flutter against his cheeks.

**Author's Note:**

> March was the worst month in recent memory for me. Not including the obvious current global situation, my beloved cat passed away from terminal cancer mid-March and so I lost virtually all interest in, well, anything in the lead up and week following her passing. And then Animal Crossing came out and successfully distracted me from literally everything.
> 
> I'm back to writing now, though, and hope to churn out a lot more going forwards! Friday just gone was my last day at my job in the hospital, and as of next week I'll be working in the community instead on a part time basis, giving me more time to write (among other things). I'm so pleased!
> 
> I'm now on [my new Tumblr account](https://chromiwrites.tumblr.com/) if you want to come say hi! I am still open for prompts or a chat, as ever.
> 
> Comments and kudos let me know if I'm doing something right, and I always love your feedback!


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